This story is about me. Only me. It’s about my ego and insecurities and fears and needs.
I typically write what I think might be useful for others to know and understand, but this is different. It’s more like a diary entry. A confessional. A cry of frustration.
It’s the sort of thing I would address to a wife or partner or trusted companion — if I had a woman in that role. It’s my half of a conversation which I would need to have with someone who loved me and believed in me and was permanently a part of my life.
So this probably isn’t for you.
I’m struggling right now. In many ways, things are the best in my life that they’ve been for at least 20 years. I have stability and purpose again. I know where I want to go. I’m more clear about my values and my priorities than I’ve ever been in my life.
But I’m struggling with the gap between how things ought to be and the reality I see in front of me. And that gap terrifies me — because nobody lives forever.

What if all truth and all beauty can be traced back to one source?
After years of wasting my life, sands of time are slipping away
Objective reality has now become offensive in dysfunctional culture
Goodbye, William (1999-2015)
Taxation is theft: It’s time to take a stand about a serious moral issue
Do great dreams really come true or do they just serve to haunt us?
Does this look like a child abuser? Voters must not have thought so
Legislator trying to legalize medical pot because of sister’s suffering
New YouTube channel launched for video versions of my essays